Dead Girls Don't Lie (11 page)

“They always look worse on the second day,” Dad says. He has two pieces of toast in his hand and he’s already dressed to go into work. He hands me one of the pieces of toast and sits down on the bed. He presses his fingers into my ankle carefully. “I don’t think it’s broken.” Worry crosses his face. “If it’s still bad tomorrow I’ll take you to the doctor.” I get his hesitation; doctors and X-rays are expensive. Dad’s a lawyer, but we still don’t have very much money because he does a lot of work for free. Mom has money, but Dad would never ask her for child support.

“For today I’d say ice, ibuprofen, and stay off it. I already told Dawn you won’t be able to go to VBS today.” He pats my head like a puppy and then stands up and takes another bite of toast. “I’ll check on you at lunchtime, but I won’t be home for dinner. The ladies’ auxiliary from church is having a picnic, and I’m the guest speaker. I’m talking about estate planning this time.” Dad is always the guest speaker at the ladies’ events. He’s still young and good looking, and I know there’s more than one woman in the auxiliary who would like to change
his “single” status. In fact, that might be the reason Claire is being so nice to me; her mom is recently divorced, again.

He kisses me on my forehead. “Stay still today. I have some books in my office that I’ll get for you to read.”

The knocking on the front door matches the throbbing of my foot, drawing me out of another dream, this one I can’t remember. The ibuprofen must have worn off. I brush my hair out of my eyes and glance around my room. I reach for my phone to see what time it is. It isn’t there, but the movement causes a stack of books to fall off my nightstand. The next sound I hear is the front door opening. Panic hits me as I remember Dad never locks it. I think about the voices in the dark from the night before and start looking for something to use to defend myself.

“Jaycee, are you here?” The voice sounds vaguely familiar, like something out of a dream. “It’s Evan.”

Evan? Evan Cross is in my house. I’m still wearing my running clothes from last night. I didn’t get the chance to shower and my unflattering ponytail has morphed into a full-fledged plume of nastiness. I’m trying to remember if I care if he sees me like this when he knocks on my bedroom door. “Jaycee? Are you in here?”

Evan’s number was eighteen. The number in my dream was eighteen. That thought sends waves of panic through me. Was he the person I saw in the old house? Did he tell those guys I was looking in the fireplace? Or has the number been
burned into my subconscious so much that I saw it in my dreams?

He knocks again. “Jaycee, are you decent?”

I try to answer “no” but nothing comes out. It’s like one of those horror movies where the stupid girl lets the killer into her bedroom just because he’s hot.

The door handle turns, and I scoot closer to the edge of my bed. What kind of a guy just walks into your house and then comes to your bedroom door?

He pushes open the door and peers around it. “Are you in here?”

“Yeah,” I answer. My voice sounds hoarse. “Yes,” I say a little clearer, pulling the blankets up over my chest, even though I’m sweating. I feel exposed. My heart skips around in my chest, bouncing between panic and embarrassment, and something else, a voice that says, “Evan Cross is actually in your bedroom.” That voice sounds a little like Claire.

“Sorry to barge in like this, but the door was open.” He looks fairly harmless, unarmed except for a grin and those blue eyes. He takes in my outfit. “Did I wake you up?”

One hand stays on my blanket and the other one goes to my hair. I feel somewhere between a little girl being teased and a girl that’s old enough to be checked out; either way I’m uncomfortable. He takes a couple of steps into my room, crossing a threshold that no guy who isn’t related to me has ever crossed. “Where’s your dad?”

“Gone.” I lick my dry lips. “But he should be back soon.” It comes out quick, like I was lying to scare him away. Truthfully,
I have no idea what time it is or if Dad will be home anytime soon.

“I won’t stay long, then.” But he doesn’t act like he’s in a hurry to leave either. He drags my desk chair over beside the bed and sits down. “I was worried about what happened to you. I heard you got hurt.”

“It’s just my ankle.”

His face changes, softening into something like concern. He sets his hand gently on my ankle. “Can I see?”

“I don’t—”

But he’s moving onto the edge of my bed, uncovering my leg. He grimaces. “That looks bad. Does it hurt?” His voice deepens almost to a purr, and he leaves his hand just below my knee. “I’m sorry I didn’t walk you home last night.”

“It’s not your fault, I just—” My heart is fluttering around in my chest like a trapped bird. I keep thinking about what Skyler said about Evan, and what I said last night about not wanting Evan. I thought I was free, but here he is, in my bedroom, being really, really nice. I’m not sure why or what he wants from me.

He leaves his hand on my leg and leans over and picks up one of the books that fell off my nightstand. He reads the first title out loud. “
Boy Meets Girl: Dating and the Christian Teen.”
He grins. “Nice.” He picks up another one,
The Christian Girl’s Guide to Boys and Dating
. “Very informative,” he says as he flips through the pages.

My face flames. This is what Dad left for me to read. Skyler bringing me home must have really freaked him out. “Don’t—” I reach to grab the books.

He sets them out of my reach and then retrieves the last one. He clears his throat dramatically. “
Saying Good-bye: Finding Faith in … Death
.” He swallows. “Oh … sorry.” The hole in my chest rises up to choke me. “I was just, just joking around. I didn’t mean to … I know … I was being a jerk.” He looks down, like he’s actually embarrassed. I’ve never seen Evan Cross look embarrassed before.

“It’s okay,” I say, although I don’t feel like it’s okay at all.

He holds up the book. “Do you really believe in all of this?” His expression is almost sincere. I can’t tell if he’s getting ready to mock me again.

I take a deep breath, waiting for the next blow to come, but he looks like he really wants an answer. Finally I say, “The dating stuff, maybe not. But the religious stuff”—I touch the book in his hand—“life after death. That I do believe in.” As soon as I say it I’m full of doubt. Where is Rachel now?

He nods. I’m not sure if he’s agreeing with me or just acknowledging what I said. “How long did you know her?” His teasing expression has gone almost tender, his blue eyes turned soft.

“Forever.” I run my thumb over the satiny edge of my comforter, suddenly wishing it were pink-and-white checked again, the way it was when Rachel and I did our bedrooms together in fourth grade.

He traces the tattoo on his shoulder. “I only knew her a little bit.” I bite the side of my cheek against the pain that engulfs me when he says that. “My senior year we worked on a project together for digital arts and—”

“Wait.” My throat closes over the word, I have to swallow
to finish. “She never told me that.” I can’t believe Rachel didn’t tell me she had a class with Evan Cross. That she actually worked with him on something without even mentioning it. I wonder how long that was before the New Year’s Eve date.

“She was cool. Really pretty, but she didn’t, like, throw herself at me like other girls did. I even asked her out a couple of times, but she totally blew me off.”

I try to wrap my mind around everything he’s telling me. Evan asked Rachel out before New Year’s and she didn’t tell me. How many times did she say no to protect my feelings?

“I was totally putting my ego on the line when I asked her out for New Year’s, but I guess third time’s the charm. She said yes.”

I swallow away a bitter lump that turns to pain when it hits my chest. Did Rachel really like Evan? Is that why she went out with him? Is that why she didn’t tell me? What would I have done if she had?

He rubs at the tattoo again. “Did she tell you what happened that night? The night we went out?”

“No. What happened?” I lean forward, hoping Evan will tell me what really happened.

He looks at me like he’s worried. “Oh, actually, I was hoping you could tell me. You were her best friend, right? I figured if anyone knew, it would be you.”

I’m confused. Why wouldn’t he know what happened on their date? I hesitate and then push forward. “Things got weird between us right after that. We kind of quit talking.” I look
down at my blankets; I can’t tell him that he’s the reason we quit talking. “I heard you went out with her, but …”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure why, but she freaked out and left the party. She wouldn’t even let me take her home.” He sets the book on my bed and stands up, like he’s going to leave, but he doesn’t. Instead he starts pacing. “Then all of a sudden she was with Peyton, and then it was Mitch Thompson, and …” He pauses again, like he’s trying to save my feelings, but he finishes. “The last thing I heard was that she …” he seems to be searching for the right word, “had been with all of them—with all of my friends.”

I’d heard those rumors too, and I’d been mad enough to believe them, but hearing them from Evan makes me sick, thinking about what that means. “No!” I’m suddenly furious with him, with all of them, for whatever he did to her, for whatever he started. My voice rises on its own, the way it did when I was talking to Eduardo yesterday. “It’s not true. Rachel wasn’t like that, not before.”

Evan backs away from my anger and the tears threatening in the corners of my eyes. “You’re probably right. Those guys always talked big. I did too. It was a jock thing. Stupid.”

He stands there, looking uncomfortable, like he doesn’t know what to say. “Look, I didn’t mean to make you mad or upset or whatever, I just …”

“Then why did you come here?” I’m so mad and confused that I forget to be intimidated by him. I bite off the words as they come out of my mouth.

He looks surprised. “I told you, I was worried about you. I
didn’t expect you to flip out about it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about Rachel. She was a really great person.” They’re the same words Claire used in the newspaper article, but Evan sounds more sincere. Maybe he really liked her.

He sits there for a minute, like he’s debating something. Then he pulls a plastic bag out of his pocket. “I forgot to give this back to you last night.”

I gasp and reach to take the bag of beads from him, but he holds onto it for a second, fingering the cross. “It looks a lot like the necklace she used to wear.”

I take it away from him, maybe too fast.

“Did you find anything else in the fireplace?” He’s trying to stay casual, but desperation seems to tug at the corner of his eyes.

Now I know what he came here for—to see if I found anything else in the fireplace. Evan has something to do with the guys I saw at the school, but what?

“No. This is all there was.” My voice wavers a little, and I hope he doesn’t catch the fear in it.

“Are you sure?” The tone is teasing, but he’s studying my face, like he’s waiting for me to crack.

“I’m sure.”

He leans in closer. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? I can tell when a girl is lying to me.” He strokes my cheek with his finger, leaving a trail of heat that spreads over my whole face. I turn away. “She won’t look me in the eye.” His finger moves across my bottom lip. “And sometimes her bottom lip quivers.”

I pull away from his hand, but my heart is thumping inside my chest. I move to the other side of my bed to get away from him. “You’d better go. My dad will be home … soon.” I swallow, wondering if he knows I’m lying now.

He puts his hand on my leg, grinning, like he has me right where he wants me. “If you really want me to leave, I will.” But he isn’t leaving. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

I scoot as far away from him as I can. “Yes. Leave … now.”

“Okay.” He tucks the blanket back around my ankle. “Whatever you want.” He stands and looks back at Rachel’s necklace, clutched in my hand. He walks to the door but stops with his hand on the knob. “We pretty much have a party at our house every night over the summer. My dad’s cool with it. You should stop by sometime.” He turns and I get the full force of those blue eyes. “I’ll be watching for you.”

As soon as I hear the front door close I let out my breath. My face is still burning, like his touch left a trail of liquid fire. I kick the book he left on the foot of my bed. It glances off my bruised ankle as a departing shot before it lands on the floor. I grit my teeth in pain and anger, suddenly furious with Evan for coming into my house and pretending to be interested in me just so he can ask what I might have found in the fireplace. I’m more furious with myself for ever thinking he was anything but a self-centered jerk.

As soon as I hear the front door close I open the bag of beads. I put my hand inside, pulling them out, letting the necklace slide through my fingers again and again to calm myself down. I need to think. Why is Evan so interested in what I
found in the fireplace? Rachel left the beads there for some reason, but why? Maybe there was more. Maybe she hid her journal there and I left it to burn because I didn’t find it quick enough. Maybe it could have told me everything: what happened in the old house, what happened on New Year’s Eve, who might have wanted to kill her. It might have even told me who Rachel was, and whether I ever knew her at all.

I grip the cross, take it out of the bag, and hold it up to the light. It’s thick and ornate, almost gaudy, but on her it looked perfect. Like everything else she wore. Rachel was beautiful. Everyone could see it, including Evan Cross, a boy who never looked twice at me until I kissed his brother, until I had something he wanted.

For as big as it is, the cross isn’t very heavy, in fact, it feels hollow and cheap. I run my fingernail down a crack in the side and it starts to separate in two. I pull back, afraid that I I’m going to break it. The crack in the cross feels symbolic, like what I did to our friendship. I put it back in the bag and lean back in my bed, but the cross keeps drawing me back to it, like something isn’t right.